Giles Blunt - The Delicate Storm

Musgrave stared out the grimy window at the traffic on MacPherson, as if the question had nothing to do with him.

‘First thing we have to do with New York,’ Cardinal said, ‘is notify next of kin, if there are any, and interview them. We’ll have to ask the usual questions – any enemies, et cetera, recent altercations …’

‘I can do that,’ Squier said with childlike eagerness. ‘Why don’t you let me do that? I have to handle a lot of American stuff anyway, liaising with the FBI and so on.’

Musgrave turned on him. ‘Do us all a favour, will you? Put one of your former Mounties on it. What the hell do you CSIS infants know about investigating a murder? Or investigating anything for that matter?’

‘The top brass at CSIS may still be former Mounties from the old security service days,’ Squier said, ‘but among the rank and file there’s hardly any of them left. And frankly, I don’t think my superior is going to want them on this case.’

‘You little dorks with your laptops and your cellphones – you think you run the universe, don’t you.’

‘Sergeant Musgrave, I’m sure you know that the former Mounties on CSIS staff were never criminal investigators; they were security officers, same as I am.’

‘Oh, really? And I’m sure you know – or would know, if you took the trouble to look back a little further – that a lot of those security men put in ten or fifteen years in the criminal divisions before moving on to security. Unfortunately, when the media went Mountie-hunting, a little window dressing was in order, so Ottawa passes a new law and abracadabra: you jerks do exactly what the Mounties were doing, only now it’s legal. Oh yes, and dear me, so sorry, I hope you don’t mind – a lot of damned good men were forced out.’

There was a slight tremor in Musgrave’s voice that spoke of emotions more complicated than anger. Cardinal had never seen him so upset, and surprised himself by feeling the beginnings of something like sympathy for the man.

Squier started to speak, then apparently thought better of it and started over. ‘I can’t change ancient history. And believe it or not, I’m not here to make trouble. But we need your co-operation, and the fact is, I’m not asking. If you want to dispute that, either of you can take it up with my superior in Toronto or with CSIS Ottawa. You have the number. When you’re ready to co-operate, give me a call. I’m at the Hilltop Motel.’ He tucked his laptop under his arm and left the room.

When he was gone, Cardinal gave a low whistle.

‘My God,’ Musgrave said. ‘Somebody shoot me.’

Cardinal drove to the Trianon Hotel out on the bypass. If Algonquin Bay could be said to have a scene for power lunches, the Trianon would be it – not that anyone would give the food anything more than two stars – simply because, of the few higher-class places in town, it was by far the most expensive.

And the Trianon possessed, Cardinal had to admit, a certain Old World charm that was hard to find in Algonquin Bay. As he stepped inside, he could see it gleaming in the silver, twinkling in the chandeliers and candelabra. He could only afford to come here on special occasions; the last had been Kelly’s graduation.

‘Which party?’ the maître d’ inquired, with a passable imitation of Parisian hauteur.

‘I’m meeting R.J. Kendall.’

The maître d’ led him across the crowded dining room. Cardinal recognized an assistant Crown attorney and nodded to a provincial court justice. Police Chief Kendall was ensconced in a plush side room that Cardinal had never seen before.

‘It’s the Windigo man himself,’ Kendall said as Cardinal entered. The chief’s face was florid, not from embarrassment or drink but from high blood pressure. ‘Do you know Paul Laroche, here? Of Laroche Real Estate?’

‘Of course. I mean, I know who you are,’ Cardinal said, shaking hands with the man who stood to greet him. Laroche was no taller than Cardinal, but he gave the impression of size – massive chest, wide shoulders – a man who could take care of himself. His grip was strong without being showy.

‘Haven’t I seen you out at the club?’ Laroche said.

‘Blue Heron Club,’ R.J. explained. ‘Paul owns it.’

‘With partners,’ Laroche said. ‘Are you a golfer?’

‘Not me,’ Cardinal said. ‘Haven’t got the patience. I want to just carry the ball right over to the pocket.’

‘Not a golfer. Are you a hunting man, then? A skier?’

‘None of the above. In summer I like to go out in the boat. Watching the hockey game’s about as close to any sport as I get. Unless you consider woodworking a sport.’

Laroche smiled. His dark hair had flecks of grey in it, but it was close-cropped, in a clinging style that flattered his well-shaped head. He was wearing a beautifully cut chalk-stripe that must have cost four times the highest sum Cardinal had ever paid for a suit. He looked like an investment banker.

‘You said you’re impatient. But I would have thought patience was a necessary virtue in your line of work,’ he said, sitting down again.

‘Actually, Detective Cardinal is one of our stars,’ R.J. said. ‘Remember the Windigo case?’

‘Really? That must have been something,’ Laroche said. ‘To take down two serial killers in one case. Quite a victory. And you probably saved a lot of lives.’

‘I had help. Lise Delorme was the one who actually—’

Laroche raised his hand. ‘Lise Delorme,’ he said. ‘I know that name …’

‘Well, she was in the papers a lot with the Windigo thing. She—’

‘No,’ Laroche said. ‘She’s the one who brought Mayor Wells to grief.’

‘Yes, she did. Performed a real service to the city that time.’

‘Oh? You think so?’

‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ R.J. said. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but we’d better get our orders in. What’s good, Paul?’

‘The maple-glazed venison is your best bet. But you must let me order the wine.’

The Trianon mostly succeeds in its efforts to ape European elegance, but the one area in which it falls down is the staff. Instead of old professionals, diners are waited on by charming but not necessarily competent young women. Laroche was polite but firm with the knock-kneed, freckled creature who served them.

Real estate was obviously a paying proposition. Laroche’s whole being glowed with money the way an athlete’s body glows with health. It shone in the gold cufflinks, glinting against the snowy perfection of French cuffs. It shone in the just-right shade of tan of Laroche’s face – a skier, Cardinal surmised.

After they had ordered, Kendall said, ‘You mustn’t get Paul onto politics, Detective Cardinal. He’s one of the key men behind Premier Mantis.’

‘Of course. You ran his local campaign,’ Cardinal said.

‘Which is the reason for this meeting,’ Kendall said. ‘The Conservatives are having a major fundraiser this coming weekend, and Paul is asking for extra police presence.’

‘Plain clothes? Shouldn’t you be talking to Chouinard about this?’

‘Chouinard’s already agreed. We’re thinking two detectives – Delorme and you.’

‘This will not be too onerous,’ Laroche said. ‘It’s going to be at our new ski club – the Highlands? – and the dinner will be sumptuous, I assure you. Except for being on watch for suspicious individuals, I think you’ll manage to enjoy yourselves.’

‘You’ll need more than two detectives to secure an event like that.’

‘We’ll have our own private security, of course. They will be on the doors and backstage and so on. But frankly – in the wake of September 11 – I don’t think private security’s enough. I’ll be much more comfortable if we have a couple of professionals right in among the tables. Premier Mantis is a very prominent figure.’